Friday, August 28, 2009

Becoming one's parents...

You know, we all do, to some extent. And it's curious, the way it happens.

When we're young, we think we're so utterly unique - set apart from our parents completely. Some of us as teenagers wish not to become anything like either one of our parents; some of us balk at the prospect completely, even if our parents are clever and kind and interesting: good people. That's all part of the teenage rebellion though I suppose: the whole "I am NOT my mother" etc thing, the "I am little Miss independent and can do anything better than my Mum and Dad..." rubbish. I have heard there are teens out there who behave better than this: I've yet to actually meet one. Maybe I can raise one...hmm...

Anyhow, so nowadays I'm not at all concerned about being like my mother or my father. We grow up and realize that we're all just human beings - like grapes in a bunch - not so different from one another as an entire race in the first place. Our mothers and fathers are just human beings, like us - they've made mistakes, but for goodness sakes, we've made equally bad mistakes (sometimes worse!) and we've not been struck dead by lightning up to now. I do apologize at this point if anyone does in fact get hit by lightning while reading this blog post...

So here I am and I just opened my desk to smell what exactly...a whiff of...incense and old wood. I suddenly got taken back to my Dad's study: my desk smells just like his. The contents are slightly different of course, but the incense; the old wood...they're the same. In our desks, we two individuals have created our worlds. Sharing a love of all things "old", we have chosen to use antique desks and surround ourselves with similar curious objects. In that way, I can see my father in me: his half of the DNA is shining through like the muted dawn of a misty forest in autumn. I can see him in me. I'm carrying him on to the next generation as though he is a fine vintage bottle of wine, held loosely in my hand as I tread along my path.

I see my mother in me as well. At the moment, chiefly through organization. Since I'm pregnant, I've been nesting an awful lot and have now come to the point where I've organized the baby clothes into little totes and put them, covered in plastic, into the cupboard where they will remain largely untouched for the next twenty weeks. Additionally I've been canning apple butter and elderberry jelly like there might never be any apples or elderberries ever again in the whole wide world. Today once again, we went out to gather our natural resources and came back with five stuffed and heavy (at least 8lb in each) bags of elderberries, three enormous bags of apples from the orchard and ten ears of corn from...well never you mind where from...

I've been less wasteful and more frugal without being scant in the last few weeks. Fewer leftovers have gone to the ice-man. The dogs have been fed at regular times; the fish have been fed at regular times; heck, even the frog has had mealtimes at approximately the same time each day.

And all the while I am there, rubbing my belly and remembering what my mother told me: this is a different pregnancy; a different baby - you will feel differently about this pregnancy than you think you will. She's so right - I do. My mother's DNA glows through my skin this pregnancy like an oil lamp left burning in a room completely devoid of people. I carry her with me through everything like a well-thumbed book of handwritten knowledge with a little ribbon for a bookmark...

I've been told I have a pretty equal blend of masculine and feminine energy and I think "they're" right, now. I sequester myself away like my Dad - sitting in concentrated silence for hours as I do my graphics work; always better at working as an individual rather than a member of a drone army in some large company. I'm the same as he is in that respect: both of us really need the creative freedom to...well, to create, because that is our meaning and the purpose that we have here on Earth. We need to be employed by either very understanding, flexible and trusting employers in jobs created specifically for us, or simply by ourselves. We don't really "work" any other way - not very well. I couldn't willingly be a cashier in WalMart or a Tax Collector or a Customer Service Rep, listening to people shout all day: those jobs make my heart shrivel up and all thoughts of real contribution to the universe go out of the window.

On the other hand I can get up half way through a project, make the children popcorn, put in a film and arrange some painting time, whilst simultaneously feeding the dogs, throwing together a pot roast and making jam. At the same time I can clean the kitchen floor, disinfect the toilet, hoover the living room and plan tomorrow's lunch. I might even find time to check the post, have a shower, put the kettle on for tea and change the sheets. In that way, I am very much my mother who was always awfully good at multitasking and awfully good at finding things to do. I find myself thinking "there's always more to do" quite often. I find myself saying "well, help me with the washing then!" when the kiddies tell me they're bored. These things all make perfect sense now: they never did when I was eleven...

So yes, an ode to my wonderful parents, who are within me every day. Now I'm feeling a squirmy little girl in me who will no doubt inherit a good mixture of both of her grandparents' characteristics. She'll probably have to be carried up and down the stairs...up and down...up and down the stairs...to get her to go to sleep as well, just like me.